That Boy
by zelofheda-B
Summary: That boy was there again, the one the government sent, the one who managed to get into the house when she wasn't looking, but Diana was not about to let him stay and spy on her, oh, no.


That boy was there again, the one the government always sent, the one who managed to get into the house when she wasn't looking. Because she made it hard for them to observe her from the outside, by keeping the drapes closed, and never watching television so that they couldn't monitor her through the airwaves or the cable, and never using the telephone because they were listening, that boy was always sneaking in, trying to get close enough to spy on her. But Diana wasn't about to allow him to stay, not even once.

"You again!" she screeched when she caught him in the middle of the living room. "Get out!"

"Oh, no," the boy said quietly. "Oh, please, G-d, no. Not to-night, _please_."

"Get out!" Diana threatened, coming closer. "Out!"

"Mom," the boy said, as he always did. "It's me, Spencer. I'm your son."

It was his favourite ruse, trying to get close to her, but she wasn't falling for it, not for a second, not even once.

"No," Diana stated. "You are not my son. You don't belong here, now get out!"

Sometimes the boy was more vehement than others, insisting that he did belong there, that it was his home too. This time was different. He bit his lip and looked like he was fighting not to cry. Huh. That was new, but it wasn't going to work.

"Mom, please!" he begged, sounding hopelessly despondent as he whispered again, "Please."

"You can cry those fake tears all you want, but I know the truth," Diana told him. "You're a spy, this is not your home, now get out and leave me in peace."

"Can I just – borrow – something to wear?" the boy asked. "They cut my clothes off me – they – I can't find my shoes –"

Diana blinked. She hadn't noticed before, but the boy was barefoot and wearing what appeared to be a makeshift loincloth made from scraps of a shirt and ripped trousers that he had to hold up with one hand. Good heavens, the lengths that boy would go to. Or maybe the government had forced him to try this ruse, but no matter, she wasn't going to let her guard down.

"Just a blanket?" he begged. "The afghan from the couch?"

He turned in that direction, and Diana moved to protect it. Who knew what secrets the government could unravel from that yarn? "You don't touch that afghan."

"I'm so cold, please," the boy begged again, pretending to shiver.

"You're not cold," she told him. "And you don't touch anything in this house."

"Mom!" he wailed, and because she hated to hear him call her that, as though he were her son instead of Spencer, she slapped him, hard, across the face. "I'm not your mom!"

She raised her hand again, but the boy ducked, backing away as he raised one hand to his cheek, pretending that her blow had hurt. She knew it hadn't. He was only a spy.

"Dr Reid," he tried again, using her proper title, which she almost appreciated, although she would have preferred he didn't talk to her at all. "I admit it. I'm a spy for – for the government and – and you've caught me, so I'll go. Voluntarily. But it's November, it's midnight, we're having a cold front, the temperature is only about forty five degrees outside, and it's just started to rain. Please don't make me go outside without _something_."

He was almost convincing, but Diana knew. She _felt _things, and this wasn't right. "You want a blanket, you go back to your government."

"They won't give me one!" Sniffing, the boy made another desperate dodge in the direction of the couch, but Diana was faster, and caught his arm. "Oh, no, you don't. No government spy is going to carry off even one thread of my stuff. You get out, and you stay out!"

The boy let his shoulders slump and his head hang as she propelled him towards the front door. And well he might! Diana had seen right through his latest trick. Obviously ashamed of his failure, he shuffled along, letting her guide him outside. On the porch, however, he stopped, looking pleadingly up at her, and she felt a sudden bolt of fear that he would yank her completely out of the house, leaving the door open for other spies to enter. They could be hiding anywhere in the dark – behind that tree or that bush or that car parked farther down the street.

She gave him a push to get him off the porch before he could even think of making a grab for her, and he stumbled down the two steps, almost falling. She thought she heard a sob, even above the sound of the rain. Still trying to act pathetic, even though it was much too late.

"Go on," she snarled. "Get off my property."

She retreated back into the house, hiding behind the door, and leaving it open just far enough that she could see out. The boy walked down the path to the sidewalk, then glanced back as though to ask if he'd gone far enough. Diana made an angry shooing motion with her hand, and the boy moved reluctantly along the sidewalk until he reached the neighbour's driveway. She guessed that was far enough.

"And don't come back!" Diana told him, though she was certain he'd try again sometime in the future. They always did. She pushed the door shut and locked it, her heart racing, then decided to she had to make sure he wasn't already trying to get back in. Positioning herself at the side of the living room window, she pulled the curtain aside just enough for her to look out. The boy had sat down on the curb of the neighbour's yard with his feet in the gutter and his face in his hands. As Diana watched, he collapsed slowly to one side, curling up with his arms clutched to his chest, and looking for all the world like he was crying in grief and pain.

Hah!

He was probably shaking with laughter in the wet grass at how he'd almost fooled her, but at least he wasn't making any more attempts to get into her house. Diana let the curtain fall and went to her bedroom, curling up under the covers and waiting for her heart to stop racing. That had been a close call! But it would be okay. She'd got him out, and he hadn't taken anything, and now she could just stay here until school got out and Spencer came home. It was always comforting to have Spencer around. He'd cuddle up next to her and she'd read to him, or listen to him talk about what he was learning, and when he was there, she usually didn't have to worry about spies. The government tried other methods, but they never sent that boy around when Spencer was there.

* * *

Diana was reading in bed when she heard the door to her bedroom open just a little. She turned towards the sound, wondering if the government was about to storm in, but it was her son, addressing her in a hesitant, even fearful voice. "Mom?"

"Spencer!" She smiled warmly up at him. "Come in!"

Spencer's worried face dissolved into relief and he came closer to the bed. "How are you feeling to-day?"

"Great," she said, lifting up the book she was currently perusing. "Just a little Morte d'Artur, nothing to be worried about."

"I made some tea, do you want some?" He was carrying two mugs, and extended one to her. Diana took it gratefully. "Thank you, honey."

He sat down next to her on the bed, balancing his own mug and blowing on it. When he didn't speak for a moment, she asked, "What's going on?"

"I'm not going to school to-day," he replied softly. Diana frowned; she must have really lost track of time if it was morning already. But then that happened so often when she was reading.

"Are you sick?" She reached out to lay a hand on the back of his neck. "I don't think you have a fever."

"It was a really crappy day yesterday," he said, and when she looked questioningly at him, he added, "I got rained on when I came home, and I didn't have – have a jacket with me, so I think I caught a chill and I might be coming down with something. And it's Friday anyway, so I can take the weekend to recover."

"Of course you can," Diana said. "You don't really need to go to school anyway."

"I wish they could just give me my diploma right now, without me having to finish the school year!" Spencer exclaimed. "I can't wait to start college!"

"I can't wait, either," Diana agreed in happy anticipation. "I know you'll do so well! The summa cum laude on your diploma will be the understatement of the year."

Spencer sighed, definitely not as excited as she was about the prospect. "Mom, do you think I can still get summa cum laude if I fail the PE requirement at Caltech? I mean, you didn't exactly give me the nickname Crash because I was so—" he made a searching gesture with his free hand –"graceful. Even now I can't run fast enough, and I keep tripping over my own feet, and –"

"You won't fail," Diana told him, but when Spencer squirmed a little, she said, "I'm pretty sure the only way to fail PE is to not show up. If you attend every class and try your best, they have to pass you."

"I guess," Spencer said gloomily, his sholders slumping. He took a sip of tea, then said quietly, "You know what I'm happy about right now? That Caltech doesn't have a football team."

"Football?" Diana didn't remember Spencer ever saying anything about football before, and was surprised to hear it now. "Honey, that will definitely not be part of your PE requirement. Wasn't there something about swimming or badminton in that brochure the recruiter gave you? You could do one of those."

"Swimming," Spencer said, still not cheering up.

"Maybe when you get a bit older, you could take a dance class," Diana suggested, remembering her own college days.

"Ugh," Spencer said, and he sounded surprisingly bitter when he continued, "Not even when I'm older."

"It's too bad we don't know of any universities that offer courses in medieval dancing," Diana went on. "I would have loved that when I was getting my degree, but I had to make do with something more modern. It was fun, though! And they never have enough boys – it would be a good place to meet girls."

Spencer made a pained face, and Diana laid a hand on his arm. "Sorry, Spencer, I meant, when you're older. And don't worry. One day you'll grow up and girls won't seem so terrible then."

Spencer gave her a quick look of despair, then glanced away. She patted his arm consolingly and tried to be more supportive, just in case. "Or boys, Spencer."

His expression changed to one of sheer torment, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to cry. Instead, he turned away and took a big gulp of hot tea, swallowing it quickly and sucking in air to cool his mouth. The movement exposed a ring of reddish skin around his wrist, and Diana leaned forward to examine it more closely. "What's this?"

"It must be a rash," Spencer murmured, but he didn't meet her eyes, or even turn back towards her. "I'm coming down with something, remember?"

"Spencer," Diana chided, but when he still didn't look up to see that she was giving him her don't-lie-to-me glare, she added, "Honey, this looks more like a rope burn."

Sighing, Spencer admitted, "Okay, it's a rope burn."

"Where'd you get a rope burn at school –" then Diana realised. "Oh, Spencer, honey!"

"From a jump rope," Spencer said, still not looking at her. "Remember I told you we had a whole unit about jump rope at the beginning of the year? It was supposed to make us stronger and lighter on our feet, and be good for other sports like basketball and volleyball and stuff?"

"If those other kids –" Diana began, but Spencer cut her off by standing up and mumbling, "I'm going to go put some salve on it, make it heal faster."

Watching him go out, Diana sighed. He was so independent, so able to take care of himself – and of her, when she was having her bad days – but still, the sooner he got into college, the better. Most college students were mature enough not to pick on a twelve-year-old genius, and things wouldn't be so hard for him then. She'd miss him, though; in fact, she was already dreading the day he would move out, because, oh, how she loved that boy!


End file.
